


The Grey of War.

by janboy



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Claustrophobia, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 21:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janboy/pseuds/janboy
Summary: While the Scions and the Warrior of Light are indisposed, the war against Garlemald still rages on.A glimpse of the frontlines, through the eyes of Captain Siderne Dromos of the Immortal Flames.





	The Grey of War.

The ash served as rain for the front-lines. The dirt and soot underfoot hungrily drank in the precipitation. The grey in the air was all encompassing. It was in their surroundings, it was in the sky, it was filling the hearts of the men and women who came to the front-line to fight for Eorzea, and the grey of war did not spare those once fire-hearted soldiers who came to fight for their homeland.   
  
Siderne rested her boot on a pile of dirt beside the mound that she was sitting on. She rotated her forearm and began to undo the tight latches that kept her gauntlet in place. One by one the latches gave way, and the gauntlet fell to the dirt. A small cloud of ash swirled about the ruined metal, and a second cloud formed as she discarded her left one. A few seconds of silence passed before the ash settled.   
  
Dried blood and soot coated Siderne's skin. She rotated her hands slowly. She curled and uncurled her fingers, and gently rubbed across her knuckles. It was so quiet. The battles against beast-tribes and mercenaries in Thanalan were composed of roaring cries, from both man and beast, there was a rhythm in the madness. This wasn't the same at all. This was a different beast entirely. Drawn-out conflict, hurting one another, then retreating, patching up wounds, and then attacking again.   
  
Siderne slowly lifted her gaze from her hands to look towards the distance. Ahead of her was a labyrinth of trenches. The ground rose and fell for some distance, and hundreds of feet ahead the ground dipped downwards sharply into an open clearing. Natural stone walls surrounded that clearing, towering high into the sky. The stone wrapped the area and narrowed into a small opening that led to the other side of the ridge. At the beginning of the day, the Eorzean forces controlled the clearing and held that opening. Now, the path was littered with slow-burning fires, massive patches of torn up dirt, and corpses.  
  
Was this what heroes did? In the heat of battle, Siderne would swear that each swing of her axe was in the name of something good. But, when the dust settled and another stalemate occurred, all that was left of the fight was to drag the dead and those on death's door back to relative safety.   
  
Helping your fallen comrade always sounded so noble in the stories the village elders told. It was different here. With ash and smoke clogging your lungs and the soldier you're dragging across the dirt muttering deliriously, their limbs missing and their blood painting a clear trail across the ground-- it felt like anything but noble. Siderne slowly pushed herself up and off of the dirt mound. She wrapped her hand around the handle of her axe, the head of it was plunged into the dirt beside her. She stepped over her discarded gauntlets and walked a handful of feet to the left, her weariness showed as she dragged her axe behind her. A pace past her foot and she stood above the opening of a trench. A soldier limped along below her. He was decorated in yellow. His leg had bandages wrapped about his right knee, and he was using a sheathed claymore as a crutch.   
  
Siderne hiked her axe up and against her shoulder and she dropped down and into the trench.   
  
"Here, let me help."  
  
"Wh--Oh, Captain."   
  
The soldier initially recoiled at the sound of Siderne's voice, his hands gripped the handle of his sword which he was hobbling along with, but recognition and relief washed over his face. She wrapped her left hand around the wounded Elezen's waist and easily lifted him enough to alleviate any weight from his right leg. Together, they continued onward through the trench. The ground and sides of the trench were layered with wooden beams for support. About a hundred feet ahead of them, the trench dipped downward and was covered overhead by both dirt and wood beams. Small camps like this were setup and scattered across the network of trenches that the Eorzeans built into the frontlines. Easier navigation, cover, and impromptu medical camps were housed in these underground bunkers.   
  
As the pair trudged forward, the Elezen, Calbort, broke the silence.   
  
"Have you heard word of any reinforcements?" His foot slipped on a slick patch of wood and he let out a yelp.   
  
Siderne caught him mid-fall and stood still till Calbort steadied himself, "Not yet. Our orders are still the same, straight down from Commander Raubahn. Hold Stoneshard's Ridge."   
  
Calbort scowled at her words. He rose his head and looked over the edge of the trench and looked in the direction of the ridge.   
  
"That damn gap in the stone. So many lives lost just trying to--" Calbort grimaced again and he stopped.   
  
The Elezen dropped his sword to the ground and gripped his thigh. Siderne looked down and saw fresh trails of blood beginning to drip down from the already dirtied bandage.   
  
"Just give me a moment," he rose back to full height, his right leg bent and the tip of his boot barely off of the ground, "I just," Calbort paused and put his weight against Siderne again, giving a nod for them to continue.   
  
"You just what?" She asked, the entrance to the bunker was just a handful of strides away.   
  
"Back in Gridania, the Serpent Recruiter painted a much different picture of what the war would be like. He didn't say it'd be like this."  
  
Calbort let out a heavy sigh, his eyes rose and met Siderne's for a moment. He was expectant, waiting for her to say something, anything, to lift his spirits like a soldier and a commanding officer should. Her tongue suddenly felt heavy in her mouth.   
  
What could she say when her own fears, doubts, and feelings were looking right at her?   
  
"Come on," She muttered, taking care as she supported him to manage the decline of the ground, "let's fix that leg up so you can stop ruining the carpet."   
  
A weak chuckle left Calbort's lips and he nodded.   
  
The air in the bunker was stuffier then the dry winds outside. Gaps in the wooden beams that lined the walls and roof provided some airway and gave a view of the battlefield before them. What was a constant presence though, was the scent of blood, sweat, dirty bodies, and stew. As Siderne entered the bunker, two soldiers rushed forward and took Calbort from her side and helped him into one of the few empty cots that lined the left wall. A slim figure in a muddied robe slowly walked from cot to cot, occasionally they muttered softly to those wounded soldiers in the beds, and they helped to ease Calbort into the remaining empty one. Half-open crates were littered across the ground, weapons were propped against the walls, a metal pot was currently boiling in the center with a small fire beneath it. A young Hyur tended to the stew, taking the occasional taste of the spoon with his armor untucked and half-clasped. After he let out an audible _'Mmm,_ ' he opened his eyes and met saw Siderne standing in the entrance.   
  
"C-Captain!" He stumbled back a step stood straight. The wooden spoon was clasped in his hand still like a baton.   
  
At his exclamation, the other soldiers in the area all snapped to attention and saluted.   
  
"Relax," She said, waving a hand with a small frown on her face, "How many times do I have to tell you all? We're all just soldiers here."   
  
The young chef, Marten, let out a relieved exhale and squatted back down by the pot. Siderne scanned the area, and just from the demeanor and the stray murmurs that her ears picked up, the general disposition of the soldiers here were echoes of what Calbort told her. A handful of soldiers stood at the right wall of the bunker, peeking through the gaps in the wooden walls to stare towards the ridge. While the others sat on the ground or stood along the walls, wrapped in thin blankets and just waiting, waiting for the sound of conflict as a signal for them to pick their weapons up and head back out. She needed to be better, a better Captain for them, she needed to show that the Flames didn't make a mistake in promoting her.   
  
Just... the dread in the air was suffocating.  
  
Siderne approached the robed figure. They stood over the now dozing Calbort. The Roegadyn healer stood a few inches taller than Siderne, their hood was drawn up, but the shadows of the bunker did little to mask the weariness on their face.   
  
"How's he looking?" Siderene asked, her voice soft.  
  
Luetz rose both their hands to rub against their eyes. It was the thirteenth day that this squadron had spent in this bunker. A week ago, a group of soldiers came to the bunker and evacuated the seriously wounded, two of the five stayed behind to assist in the defensive and offensive efforts that were taking point here. That was the last time that Siderne had contact with the rest of the Eorzean forces. Battle fatigue was showing, and it looked to be putting a major burden on the sole medic in the bunker.   
  
"I need rest to regain my healing magicks, but those precious hours cannot be spared. I am spent in my healing capacity, but as a doctor and practitioner, I know that Corporal Calbort needs to have that leg removed 'fore the infection which plagues it spreads through the rest of his body."  
  
Luetz motioned with their hand after they finished speaking, gesturing towards the unconscious Calbort and the fresh but not tightly wrapped bandages around his leg. Now that she was in a smaller space, she smelled the infection of his wound before she reached forward and cautiously lifted the cloth. The portions of skin that still retained some of his natural pigment were a ghostly pale. The numerous veins that crisscrossed beneath the skin stood out starkly in bright blues and purples. It was the wound itself that made Siderne's heart drop to the pits of her stomach. On both sides of his kneecap were two long gashes. The skin directly around the wound was a sickly mixture of purple and black. Calbort's blood ebbed along the edges of the wounds, but even that was dripping to the dirt with a tint of black. Siderne lowered the bandage and pressed her fingers to her brow.   
  
The healer continued, wearing the same weary expression as they turned to scan over the rest of the soldiers in the bunker, "The bullets are lodged too close to the bone to remove them with any tools we have here. The Imperials must've coated their weapons in something vile to cause such a reaction. I fear he won't have much longer if we do not act."   
  
"I hear you," Siderne sighed, "Maybe--"  
  
"Hey! Dromos!"   
  
Siderne turned on her heel at hearing her last name barked at her. There was an audible shuffle of movement as the soldiers that lined the walls turned to look towards the sudden noise. A young woman marched towards Siderne. A Miqo'te, a Maelstrom soldier who came under Siderne's command with their original objective to hold this point. The Miqo'te, T'sahari, stomped right up to Siderne with her sword drawn and at her side, and her ears flattened against her head.   
  
"You'd do well to address your Captain with respect," Luetz hissed.   
  
"Yeah, well, she has to earn my respect. Just like you. What're you even good for? Our friends are just laying here, dying slowly, while you stand around doing nothing. And you," T'sahari whipped her head back towards Siderne, "What are we doing here? Where is the rest of the alliance? There's ten of us who are still on our feet and can swing a sword while half the Imperial army is right through that hole in the ridge."  
  
Out the peripheries of her vision, Siderne could see the other soldiers inching closer. Even Marten abandoned his bowl of stew to stand and be part of the loose circle that formed around her, Luetz, and T'sahari. The proximity of the Miqo'te, and the other soldiers inching closer, all with intrigued, embarrassed, or confused looks on their faces bore daggers into Siderne. In that moment, she felt completely bare. The armor on her torso and legs was nonexistent to the scrutinizing glares which dug into her. The aroma of the sick and wounded, the perpetual smoke in the air, all of it made her lungs feel as though they were being wrung out to dry.   
  
"We have our orders," Siderne finally managed to say, "Hold the Ridge, and if there's an opening, take it."   
  
T'sahari let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes, " Yeah, all we'll need to do that is the Scions and the Warrior of Light themself."   
  
"Have you heard from the Scions?" A voice from behind T'sahari called out.  
  
Another voice followed, "Or from the Warrior of Light?'  
  
T'sahari threw her hands up and turned her back to Siderne, "I've heard stories of the Warrior of Light taking down entire Vanguards alone, cleaving through Imperials like they were nothing. Why don't you get them to help us here? Before we all end up on a cot, dying, like Calbort."   
  
A few of the soldiers nodded at the Miqo'te's words. Siderne looked from the back of T'sahari's form, to meet Marten's gaze. His eyes held fear, his expression one of creeping worry.   
  
Siderne had to say something.   
  
"Ever since the meeting that the Scions and the Alliance leaders had with Varis, I haven't heard anything of where they might be."   
  
Maybe she shouldn't have said that.  
  
"Great," T'sahari scoffed, "They fuck up the one chance we had for peace and then disappear into the air."   
  
An uneasy silence filled the bunker. Siderne with her tongue tied and her heart heavy, and a wave of discontent filled the soldiers around her. Siderne looked from one soldier to the next, and none of them met her gaze. She looked to Marten, who held her eyes for a moment before looking down at his feet.   
  
The silence was broken by a pained shriek from Calbort.   
  
"AGH!" He seized up in place, then curled in on himself and gripped both sides of his leg.   
  
His whole body convulsed and shook. Before Siderne could grab him, he flung himself off of the cot and hit the ground with a thud. Black blood began to flow out from Calbort's knee, his face was a sickly white and numerous beads of sweat poured down from his brow. The whites of his eyes nearly enveloped his pupils. Drool began to stream down the corners of his mouth.   
  
"Captain! We need to act, now!" Luetz quickly skirted Calbort's form and lowered to their knees by his head.  
  
Luetz gripped his temples, holding him in place and they began to weakly mutter arcane phrases beneath their breath.   
  
This was something she could do. Action, not trying to find the right words. As if roused from a deep slumber, Siderne nodded her head and began barking orders at the soldiers.   
  
"T'sahari, Marten, Niells, Marette, hold his arms and legs down!"   
  
Calbort's full body convulsions were quelled slightly by the work of Luetz. Instead, his whole body shuddered, like ripples in a current, coursing up and down his form and growing weaker and weaker by each passing second. Once Calbort's limbs were held in place, Siderne's hands slowly slid up the handle of her axe, and she rose it high enough to be just above her shoulder. She looked to Luetz, who gave her a firm nod, then she swung downwards.   
  
As Siderne's axe made contact, Calbort let out a screech of pain, and a half-second later, he slumped unconscious. Siderne drew her axe back and shifted the bottom half of his leg aside with her foot, and she let Luetz and the other soldiers begin to wrap up the stump. Siderne took a number of steps back, her hand was wrapped about the axe handle, just beneath the axehead, and she stared at Calbort's face without complete focus in her vision.   
  
Barely any blood came out of the bottom half of his leg when she severed it. It looked like the infection caused the blood to congeal into purple clumps. As Siderne had pulled her axe back, she saw how his veins looked like clogged tubes fit to burst. Her head swam, the air in the bunker was too stuffy, too full of death, sweat, and blood. Siderne stumbled back a few steps and her axe slipped from her fingers. She felt two hands grab her. One on the back of her left arm, the other between her shoulder blades.   
  
"C-Captain?"   
  
Siderne rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes then turned to see Marten at her side, steadying her. He was the youngest soldier in their regiment, he couldn't have been more then eighteen summers old.   
  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm okay." Siderne nodded her head in thanks.   
  
"T'sahari is just scared," Marten said softly, "Well, we all are, but that's why she was shouting like that."   
  
"I know. Honestly, I'm pretty scared too."   
  
Siderne made eye contact with Luetz, who still remained crouched over Calbort. Luetz patted Calbort's shoulder, then gave Siderne a quick thumbs-up before continuing to dress Calbort's stump. When Siderne turned her head back to Marten, she found him looking genuinely surprised at her response. The look on his face was genuine, innocent, honestly kind of silly. Before Marten could even continue, Siderne felt a half-smile growing across her own lips.   
  
"What?"   
  
Marten looked away, Siderne could see even beneath the dirt on his face that his cheeks were flushed.  
  
"N-nothing, nothing, I've just heard the stories of all the work you used to do before joining the Flames... It all sounded so cool. Mercenary work, fighting bandits and beast-tribes... And you're only a few years older than me."   
  
Marten's eyes finally returned to Siderne's. There was admiration there.  
  
"I just didn't think you could get scared," he finished.   
  
The self-doubt and tension within Siderne's chest was relieved slightly. She was tongue-tied again. If only her brother was here, he was always the one that was good with words. She kept that half-smile on her face then she reached forward and wrapped her arm around Marten's neck and pulled him in under her arm. With her freehand, she lightly rubbed her fist against his head, tousling his hair and then pushing him forward with a light kick in his rear.  
  
"Keep talking like that and I'll have you shining my boots every morning, Private Marten!"   
  
Marten stumbled forward, laughing as well. After the sudden and grave argument with T'sahari and the impromptu surgery of Calbort's leg, the sound of laughter was like the pin which popped the ballon. A wave of relief came over the bunker, brought forward by an emotion not felt for some time. Even T'sahari, who remained seated beside Calbort, chuckled at Marten who caught himself on the stand of his boiling stew.  
  
Siderne's smile froze as a distant noise reached her ears. She turned her head left, then to the right, the noise was getting closer. Siderne weaved her way through the soldiers and stepped into the entryway of the right side of the bunker. The trench continued for as far as her eyes could see, but save for a few crows lining the tops of the wooden supports, she didn't see a single soul approaching.   
  
Then she heard that noise again, a shout, and it was much closer.   
  
Siderne turned towards the shout and saw one of their scouts, a Lalafell named Pieter, sprinting towards the bunker across open ground.   
  
"They're coming!" He shouted, "They're--"  
  
A shrill whistled pierced the air. There was a flash of light from the gap in the ridge, and then an explosion.   
  
Pieter was consumed in a blast of debris, fire, and dirt. Siderne saw Imperial soldiers sprinting through the ridge and towards them, and she saw three more flashes of bright blue light. She turned towards the inside of the bunker. Each second felt heavy, each movement of her arms, her legs, the muscles in her mouth and the words forming on her tongue. They were all too slow.   
  
"GET AWAY FROM THE--"  
  
The three missiles collided with the front-side of the bunker. Siderne felt a wave of force blast into her chest, she felt the searing heat of flames licking at her face, she heard the sharp cries of her comrades around her, then she felt her head slam back against a wall and then there was only darkness.

* * *

  
  
Siderne came to with a heavy weight on her back. It took a moment for her to realize she was prone and on her stomach. She tried to blink her eyes open, but that same weight that was on her back was pressed against her face. All she could see was the same darkness, no difference between having her eyes opened or closed. It was at that moment that she felt just how tight her lungs felt and how each breath she drew from her nostrils was more ragged then the last. She was buried alive.   
  
Panic was her first reaction. She tried to move her legs. She tried kicking out, thrashing against the dirt surrounding her, but nothing gave way.   
  
_**'No no no, not like this, not like this.'**_   
  
Siderne tried to throw her whole torso upward. She couldn't feel her right arm. She couldn't look down to see where it was. With each movement she made, she could feel more dirt flowing down and layering over her skin. She made muffled noises against the darkness as she struggled. Weak protests against the situation she was in, displays of a fight that she was rapidly losing, fear that was quickly threatening to overwhelm her completely.   
  
_**'Please. Not like this.'**_  
  
The dark was truly suffocating her now. She couldn't see. She couldn't move. She couldn't fight. She was going to die, buried beneath a mound of dirt. She felt her breaths beginning to catch in the middle of her throat. There wasn't any air left. Her ears felt hot, every hair along the back of her neck was raised and Siderne's entire body subconsciously tensed as her gasps for air led to body-racking tremors as her body began to shut down. In those panic-stricken moments, Siderne felt her the index finger of her left hand push against the dirt, and break free. Her mind teetered on multiple precipices. She was on the edge of breaking. Her body fought against her to shut down, to preserve her vital functions for a handful of moments. And she fought to control her left hand and claw to freedom.   
  
Her fingers curled and uncurled. Siderne felt herself beginning to sink into unconsciousness, but she rotated her wrist, and her fingers began to push against the dirt and free her whole hand. Her heartbeat was deafening. Her heart threatened to burst against her sternum, it felt as though it was bouncing around in her chest, trying to skewer itself upon her ribs. All she could hear was a _'thud thud, thud thud, thud.... thud.'_  
  
Then she took a shaky breath of air.  
  
Her left hand pulled away at more of the dirt in front of her face. She took another breath, crashing trails of dirt continued to fall, some of it getting in her mouth. A painful cough clawed at her lungs, but she continued to press her mouth and nose towards the opening she had formed. Another breath. Another. Another. Her trembling left hand dug at the dirt again, and through blinking eyelids and watering eyes, the grey of the Stoneshard Ridge came back to view.  
  
The remains of their bunker came into focus first. Wooden splinters were scattered around and lined the crater of their base. Siderne saw burning pieces of cloth and scattered limbs. A handful of feet in front of her, she saw the half-buried handle of her axe. Just beside her axe, she made eye-contact with Marten.   
  
His mouth was half-open, stuck in an eternal scream. A chunk of his torso was missing. As was his right arm, a majority of his waist, and she could see the bits and remains of his legs in the dirt behind him. Just like that. Another light, extinguished. Siderne stared into his lifeless eyes and in that moment she wouldn't have been any wiser if minutes, hours, days, weeks, or months had passed. What was a handful of seconds froze completely in time for her. This image, as she was half-buried in dirt with her cheek pressed to the ground, and the gruesome remains of their bunker, the corpse of her friend, and the grey ridge behind him... this moment would stick with her, haunt her for many years to come.   
  
More flashes of white light flared at the edges of her vision. Her eyes snapped to the left and right, and she saw her remaining soldiers. Those that could still swing a weapon and stand on their feet were engaged in combat with the Imperials. Siderne saw T'sahari with her sword swinging and her claws outstretched, fighting side by side with the others. Luetz was some ways down the trench pathway in the opposite direction. A cluster of limping, crouched, or prone figures surrounded them. The wounded who could still walk seemed to be helping them transport the more gravely hurt away from the fight. Calbort was there too. He was seated with his back against the trench wall, and his eyes fluttered open then closed.  
  
"Come on," Siderne muttered, "Come on."   
  
She continued to dig herself free. Once just a freed hand, became a forearm, then an elbow and her shoulder. Dirt cascaded from above her as she shifted, but she couldn't stop. They needed her. Marten had needed her, Pieter too, they needed her and they were dead. The rest would be dead too if she didn't MOVE!  
  
"Come, ON!"   
  
Siderne let out a desperate scream, a roar of anger mixed with sheer frustration. The picture of Marten's face and his mangled remains burnt themselves into the inside of Siderne's eyelids, as did the brief second of sheer fear painted across Pieter's face before he was blown to nothing. Each blink, she saw them, each passing moment, they served as the kindling for Siderne's growing fire of retribution.   
  
Her legs finally were able to move. She brought them both up as far as she could, then she pushed off the side of the dirt mound and propelled herself outwards. Down she went, tumbling head over heels and right into the bottom of the bunker's crater. She laid there for a moment. Simply breathing. Her side rose and fell in deep breaths. With shaky hands, she pushed off of the ground and steadied herself upon her knees. Her armor was near shredded. Down the sides of both her arms, across her stomach, and big chunks of her greaves were ripped and bleeding from the initial blast. Siderne rose a trembling finger to press against her face. She checked her ears, eyes, nose, mouth. Down the side of her neck she felt dead skin, a burn that spanned from the edge of her jaw down to her collarbone. She was hurt. Maybe beyond repair. But for this moment now, she could still fight.   
  
Siderne precariously got to her feet. The battle still raged. She could hear the cries of her allies. Siderne half-walked, half-stumbled to the edge of the crater, and she started to climb upward, hand over hand. Some parts of the rock were slick with blood. As she ascended from the crater, she saw some faces buried in the dirt, she saw entrails draped upon jagged pieces of wood. Tears began to stream down the corners of her eyes, whether they were from the dry wind and the irritation, or from the sudden carnage around her, it didn't matter. She craned her neck upwards to the lip of the crater. An arm was extended down towards her, a hand half-opened. Relief filled her heart and she reached out for the hand and grabbed it.   
  
She nearly toppled backwards as she pulled on it. She pulled the arm free, blood streamed down from the shoulder-joint that it had once been attached to and splattered across Siderne's face. She dry-heaved and dropped the arm down the crater. Her head bowed down. She pressed her forehead against the dirt and let out another scream, this one fueled by pain. Tears flowed down Siderne's cheeks, down past the point of her nose, and fell into the arid earth of the crater. The very soil itself seemed to respond to her cry, and there was an earth-shuddering impact some hundred feet to Siderne's right. Reverberations went through the soil, and Siderne finally pulled herself up and out of the crater to look towards what caused the tremors. Shouts rang through the standing Eorzeans. They were to Siderne's left, some distance away from whatever hit the ground.  
  
She heard T'sahari shout, "Vanguard! Luetz run!"  
  
A massive mechanical contraption rose from its landing point. It transformed from a slim cylindrical shape into a menacing, two-legged contraption of stainless steel. In the center of the Vanguard was a pilot encased in a glass cockpit, and the two arms of the Vanguard came to wicked points. It didn't seem to care for the Eorzean fighters. Instead, the first steps that it took after it shifted into its battle stance was towards the trenches. It was heading right for where Luetz and the wounded were hiding.   
  
Siderne balled her hands into fists and pushed off the ground. She started to run, then her legs gave way beneath her and she collapsed forward into a heap. To her left was Marten. His eyes still open and his mouth agape. To her right was her axe. She pushed herself up, less shaky, more driven. Her hands wrapped around the handle of the axe and she got back to her feet. After a grunt and a pull that nearly sent her to the ground again, Siderne freed her axe and began to run again. Each of the Vanguard's steps shook the ground. It was getting closer to them, Siderne saw Luetz stick their head up and look towards the machine, and they tried helping those around them to their feet. They were too slow, they were too slow, Siderne was too slow!   
  
Mid-stride, Siderne reared her axe back with both arms and tossed it over her head. Her momentum sent her stumbling forward again, and she pressed her hands against the ground and pushed back up to her feet. Her axe flew true, end over end, and she saw it slam into the back of the Vanguard. It faltered a half-step, but remained standing. Siderne could see the Imperial piloting the machine turn towards her, and then return his attention to where Luetz was.   
  
It wasn't enough.   
  
Siderne kept running at the Vanguard, but what could she do?   
  
She watched as the Vanguard was now just forty feet from where Luetz was frantically trying to help the wounded get out. Siderne was too slow. Thirty, twenty, ten feet. The Vanguard now loomed over them, while Siderne was till sprinting and some distance away.   
  
"NOOOO!" Siderne screamed.   
  
The Vanguard reared its arm back.   
  
_'Save them.'_  
  
A voice. A whisper. It caressed Siderne's ear.   
  
_'Save them.'_  
  
It echoed. It was both overwhelmingly loud and deathly silent. It bounced in both of Siderne's ears, pierced through her mind. The Vanguard had its arm reared back, frozen, just like Siderne, who felt as though she was being held in stasis.   
  
_'Save them.'_  
  
The voice whispered once more, and now Siderne felt a new weight in both her hands. She couldn't turn her head down to look at what it was. Her whole body was forced still. It felt like a rope, like a chain.   
  
With her next exhale, the world moved again with a roaring clarity. Siderne reared her arms back and threw the chain at the back of the vanguard. It was a chain composed of pure light. It burned to the touch of her scarred hands, but it wasn't painful. It was electric, frizzling with energy. The chain flew through the air and wrapped around the Vanguard's arm, then impossibly looped around its form again to wrap down from its shoulder, across its front, and up and around to its back.   
  
Then Siderne pulled. She pulled with all the strength she had left in her body. She pulled for Marten, for Pieter, for her soldiers still standing, for her home of Ala Mhigo, for her family lost and for her brother back in Ul'dah. She could hear the sound of metal and gears whining, the Vanguard emitted a shrill noise as its arm found strong resistance, but was being pushed to strike down at Luetz even still. Siderne had its strike at a standstill.   
  
"LUETZ! HURRY!" Siderne shouted.   
  
She wrapped the chain further up her right forearm and continued to pull. She could see the Vanguard teetering in place, its arm and torso bent further and further back. Like a crack of thunder, a gunshot disrupted the awe-inspiring display. The sound was like thunder, but the pain Siderne felt in her shoulder-blade was like a dagger. She stumbled forward, her grip on the chain slackened and the Vanguard's now un-restrained momentum let the arm swing downwards and cleave the dirt just beside Luetz and the wounded, narrowly missing them.   
  
Siderne clenched her teeth together and planted her feet against a large stone, then she pulled, all while doing her best to ignore the fresh streams of blood and the pain that centered from the gunshot. From behind her, Siderne heard T'sahari shout again.   
  
"Protect the Captain! You lot, go help Luetz!"  
  
The sound of Steel-on-steel and combat began again from the distance behind Siderne. She saw from the corners of her eyes as two soldiers dropped their weapons and jumped down into the trenches. They ran to help Luetz, they needed more time.   
  
Now with her feet braced, the Vanguard's arm was snapped back sharply after its swing. Its stomped backwards a step, and another, its torso was at a precarious angle. Thunder struck again, though, and Siderne felt more hot metal pierce into her side. Then another shot. And another. Her back and shoulders hit by four, five, six, bullets, but to her own surprise, she was still standing, still pulling.   
  
The pain was present and near overwhelming. Each impact felt like a tiny explosion erupting from beneath her flesh. She should have been on the ground and dead. How--  
  
Siderne looked down at her side, where one of the bullets tore through her back, glanced off her rib, ripped through her front, and thudded into the boulder she was braced against. Where her blood was dripping and her flesh was torn, stitches of pure, crystalline light kept began to form. Her blood still flowed freely, dripping to the ground in a growing pool of crimson beneath her, but the light was keeping her standing.   
  
Siderne gripped the chain with both hands, then threw her head back and pulled with a guttural roar. The Vanguard teetered, flailed, and slammed into the ground. The earth shook again, but this time it was accentuated with a reinvigorated cheer from the remaining Eorzeans. After all the tension in the chain finally fell slack, Siderne fell to the ground and off the side of the boulder. Her cheek pressed against the ground, she could see her hand before her face. A bullet had gone through the back of her hand. Through the bright, crisscrossing lines that kept her skin intact, Siderne could see through it.   
  
She wanted to rest. She wanted to lay there and close her eyes. But, there was still work to be done. She pushed herself out of the puddle of her own blood. Droplets of crimson slid down her cheek. She limped towards the toppled Vanguard, sparing a single glance over her shoulder to see the four of five Eorzean soldiers still standing driving off the remaining Imperials. At seeing their mech get taken down, the stragglers turned tail and headed back to the ridge. Siderne released the chain and it dissipated into the air. Her body was covered in blood, and across all her wounds was patchwork crisscrosses of light. Thin lines in the form of stitches gave her a dim and unnatural glow as she made her way to the Vanguard. Smoke flowed into the air from the contraption, and Siderne wrapped her hands around her embedded axe to pull it free from the twisted metal. Her axe felt heavier, the exhaustion of it all was slowly getting to her. With her free left hand, she pulled herself up the side of the Vanguard and she walked cautiously across its front.  
  
The pilot continued to furiously hammer away at the Vanguard's controls. Trying to will it back to its feet and continue the mission. He didn't see the looming shadow of Siderne's axe above him before it was too late. She swung downwards at him. The glass broke beneath her axe and dug a diagonal slash across his front. Blood splattered across the cockpit's controls and broken windows. The pilot grasped at the axehead and gurgled blood, pale blue eyes looked to Siderne in fear. And she looked back at him unflinching. She yanked the axe free of his torso, then rose it, and swung it down again. More shards of glass broke and scattered across the Vanguard, some it it cutting at Siderne's exposed legs. Her axe buried another diagonal gash into his torso, forming a bloody X. The Imperial grasped at the axehead again, this time much more weakly, and the only noises he made were weak coughs, blood dribbled down the corners of his mouth.   
  
With bloodlust in her eyes, Siderne drew the axe back again, and she swung a third time. This time at the Imperials face. She cleaved into his skull horizontally and the swing had such force that it sawed the skull of the man in two, and the axehead embedded into the pilot's seat.   
  
At last, Siderne released her weapon and dropped to a knee. Her shoulders shook with each breath she took. The pain in her body which was held back by by the light, now burst into her senses like a broken dam.   
  
She fell onto her back. Her eyelids grew heavy. She took one last breath before fading into unconsciousness. As her vision blurred and the darkness at its fringes overcame her, she heard that ethereal voice whisper one last time.   
  
_'Holmgang.'_

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far thank you for reading! Siderne has been unknowingly carrying an echo of the light for all her life, and I wanted to describe that echo through the Warrior's iconic ability of Holmgang. Feel free to leave any comments, questions, or whatever below I would very much appreciate it!


End file.
